Midwinter Reflections
by Whisper-norbury
Summary: The Company all sit down to celebrate the last day of Yuletide in Erebor by sharing their favorite memories from the year before. (Bagginshield fluff with a touch of Kiliel discussion)


_**NOTE:** This story follows along with many of my other everyone-lives AUs ("Collapse", for example)—Bilbo got to Ravenhill earlier than in the movie; and though Thorin, Fili, and Kili were gravely wounded, they did eventually recover. Additionally, the axe remains in Bifur's head, Bilbo lost the One Ring beneath the ice at Ravenhill, and after recovering from his injuries, Thorin found that the Arkenstone was no longer as alluring as it once was (though he did set it again atop the throne)._

_... ... ..._

* * *

"Come on over to the fireside now, everyone!" called Bilbo. "It's time to get started!"

All around him the Dwarves of the Company gathered together, sitting down upon the massive hearth rug beside the Yule Chamber's giant fireplace. Every one of them was in good cheer, and they were laughing and clinking together their mugs of spiced-cider as they got lost in desultory conversation.

"Quiet down!" hollered Thorin as he strode across the room; he then sat beside Bilbo, who felt a familiar, comfortable warmth in his chest when the Dwarf-King leaned slightly against him. "Bilbo said that it is time to begin!"

The Hobbit blushed. "No, no… it's fine!" he said. "The holiday is all about sharing joy, and it seems that there is plenty of that right now! Best not to put too swift an end to it. We'll begin when all are _ready_ to begin."

Thorin lowered his head slightly towards Bilbo. It was a familiar assent, an acceptance of his word without argument; and it had become commonplace since they had come into one another's lives. Besides, what argument _could_ Thorin have with Bilbo, as far as Yule traditions were concerned? Especially since prior to last year, none of the Dwarves had even _heard_ of the Hobbit festival.

Of course, Bilbo's first Yuletide in Erebor had gone by completely unnoticed by himself, as well. The Battle for the Lonely Mountain had taken place only a few weeks before, so there had been far too much work to do, what with all the cleaning up and recovery and the mending of political fences. And considering how badly injured Thorin and Fíli and Kíli had been at the time, there had been no thoughts of celebration by _any_ of the Company for many months afterwards.

It wasn't until the end of the next October—around the time that Erebor's growing population of Dwarves were observing a nominal version of Durin's Day—that Bilbo had really started missing his own people's cold-weather traditions; but when he had mentioned the holiday to the Company, they'd told him that they had never heard of it. Bilbo couldn't believe that. Did Dwarves really not celebrate Yule? Did they not know of the food, the gifts, the music, the reminiscing? No, that wouldn't do at all.

And so, he had gone on to describe Yuletide in as much detail as he was able. He told them that it was a midwinter festival; a celebration at the closing of the year, meant to bring cheer in the midst of the coldest and darkest days of the season. He told them of spice cakes and mince pies and hot mulled cider. He told them of the great bonfires where the Hobbits would gather around to toss in slips of paper with their regrets from the past year written upon them. He told them of candles in the window, potted evergreens in the den, and fruited garlands hanging from the ceiling. He told them of gift-giving traditions, and how it was almost always something handmade, and often meant to help keep the recipients comfortable and occupied until the springtime.

After having learned all of this, the Company had been fascinated and inspired; though it had been Thorin's idea to bring the holiday to Erebor. He had in secret spoken about it with the others, who all agreed that it was a fine idea; and so they had begun preparations with only about a month and a half to spare, all the while hiding the plans from Bilbo. There then came a time in mid-December when the Hobbit was asked rather abruptly to pay a visit to the Woodland Realm; serving, so Thorin claimed, as a cultural ambassador of sorts.

Bilbo had enjoyed the visit very much, and had traded back and forth many recipes and stories; until at last Fíli and Kíli arrived in Mirkwood, and together they all returned to Erebor. Thorin had met them at the rebuilt Gate, his smile hardly contained; then he'd hurried his nephews off elsewhere before leading Bilbo to a door that the Hobbit had never entered or even given much thought to. When the room was opened, the scent of pine washed over them, and Bilbo was staggered by the light that flowed from within; and after blinking away the glare, he stared in awe at the marvelous view before him.

The room was massive, its ceiling higher than Bilbo could see. Great potted evergreens stood in each of the four corners, every one of them draped with golden chains and trimmed with glass baubles. The stone walls were festooned with garlands and dripping with stringed jewels. At the center of the room there were many tables—enough, Bilbo figured, for every Dwarf in Erebor to have a seat—all set with plates and mugs and silverware, and with great undulating lines of flickering candles and tufts of holly for centerpieces. Beyond the tables there was a grand fireplace, three times as tall as Bilbo himself, before which were laid out many thick rugs and cushions; while to either side of the hearth there were stacks and stacks of presents, all wrapped in paper and tied with ribbons and string.

Bilbo had lingered there long in the doorway, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. His feet, even, refused to move for his fear that everything would vanish if he took a single step into the room. So Thorin had at last taken him by the hand and led him inside, and at once the Hobbit had burst into fits of laughter. Downcast, Thorin asked if he had done something wrong in that moment—if he had taken such a misstep that Bilbo had found humor in it. But Bilbo had simply thrown his arms around Thorin, telling him that he had done everything just right.

Dwarves soon started to arrive in the Chamber—the Company first, then all of the others who lived in the Mountain—and the celebration was begun. When all were seated, tray upon tray of food was brought out, and there was certainly no want of drink. Periodically, the servers would trade places with other celebrants, so that all could take part in the feast; and when the cooks and bakers at last made their appearance, a great cheer of appreciation echoed throughout the room. The festivities went on for a full day and night, with many songs being sung, many gifts being given, and many regrets being thrown into the fire.

More than anything, that first Yuletide in Erebor had proven to Bilbo how much he truly meant to Thorin, and it had also made Bilbo realize how much Thorin meant to _him_. More than the mithril shirt that had saved Bilbo's life, more than the private pleas for forgiveness, more than the brushing of fingers as they passed one another in the corridors… the bringing of Yuletide to Erebor had meant more than any of that, because Thorin had wanted to give to Bilbo some small piece of the home that he had left behind.

Over the next year, Bilbo and Thorin's friendship grew, until _friend_ was not a word that they could in honesty call one another. Springtime saw Bilbo plant the acorn that he had taken from Beorn's garden; and with the help of some rich soil that he had gotten from the Elves, the small oak had thrived in a large brass pot in the corner of his room. However, it was not to be his room for long.

In summer, Thorin asked Bilbo to share his own chambers; and so he did, taking the small tree with him. Then came autumn, with the air beginning to take a chill, though the harvests from the newly planted fields between Erebor and Dale were bountiful. By that time, Thorin and Bilbo had truly become _one_; inseparable and complete—a fact known to all who lived within Erebor, and many from without.

Winter came around once more, and Yuletide plans were again made. This second Yule in Erebor was greater even than the first, as Bilbo had since clarified several things; such as the fact that Yuletide took place not on a single day, but over the course of a full _six_. This had pleased the Dwarves to no end, as they were always ready for any excuse to extend a celebration, especially where there was food and ale involved.

He had told them also of the time at the end of Yule when all bellies were full and all the gifts had been given—later to be opened in the privacy of recipients' own rooms—when kith and kin would gather together and tell one another of their favorite memories from the past year. So, after regrets had been burned and the crowd had dispersed on this final day of this year's Yuletide, the Company settled down beside the grand hearth to reminisce.

"So, who goes first?" asked Ori.

"Whoever wants to, I suppose," said Bilbo, lazing into Thorin's arms. "There's no rule for this sort of thing."

None of the Dwarves said anything right away, instead looking around at one another, waiting for someone else to be the first to speak up. At long last, Kíli shrugged and reached over to grab his mug of hot cider.

"I'll start, then!" he said, taking a long drink before going on. "So, it'll be our very _best _memory from last year?"

"Well, the _best _memory, or just a very good one," said Bilbo. "Something you don't mind sharing."

"Ah!" Kíli took another drink of cider. "Right! I think I have one!"

"It isn't about your Elf-maid, is it?" growled Dwalin.

Kíli's eyes darted to the side. "It might be."

Bilbo cracked a small grin. Kíli speaking about Tauriel was nothing new. At times, it was nearly constant, to the point where many of the Dwarves had begun openly dreading any time that Kíli got _that _expression on his face. For Bilbo, it was not so bad—after all, he didn't have the aversion to Elves that most Dwarves did. Still, Bilbo had grown to enjoy the little annoyed glares that Thorin shot in his nephew's direction, although Kíli seemed hardly to notice them at all. Not that Thorin could say much any more on the subject of finding love outside the confines of his own people… but an _Elf? _Bilbo tried to hide his crooked smile.

"As besotted as you are, lad," said Balin, leaning close to Kíli, "and as friendly as Tauriel may be with us, I think it best that you find some... _other _memory to share."

"I'm… I mean... I suppose…" Kíli stuttered, fiddling with the ribbon that was wrapped around his as-yet-unopened present. "I'll have to think about it, then."

Glóin let out a deep laugh. "Well, that'll take a while now, won't it?"

"Fine!" said Kíli, growing defensive. "How about _you_, then?"

"What _about _me?"

"Give us _your _favorite memory from this last year."

There was a round of snickers as Glóin's expression fell.

Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo's waist, pulling him closer. "So, let's hear it, Glóin," he said. "There must be _some _memory you want to share."

Glóin grunted. "Well, that's easy!" he said. "It's… it's um, when…" He squinted; then at once he snapped his fingers. "The raven!"

"What raven?" asked Nori, who was shaking his present close to his ear.

"Just last week, I received a raven-message from Ered Luin!"

Óin pointed at his brother. "Ah, that's right!" he said. "That _was _some good news!"

Glóin nodded in agreement, but neither he nor Óin elaborated; and after a long moment of impatient silence, Dori threw his hands out.

"Well, are you going to tell us what the raven said or not?" he pressed.

"Oh! It was from my wife!" announced Glóin. "She has gotten all of the arrangements back home in order, so she and Gimli will be here in Erebor by mid-summer!"

There was a chorus of happy support and congratulations, and Fíli patted him on the back. It certainly _was _good news, as Óin had said. For over three years, all that Glóin had heard from his wife and son had been short notes and terse raven-messages here and there; and in that time, Glóin had become almost as lovesick over his wife as Kíli was over Tauriel.

"We will be sure to make their welcome is a royal one," said Thorin, rubbing his chin on the top of Bilbo's hair. "Their arrival is long overdue."

"Aye," said Glóin wistfully. "I can only wonder at how much bigger and stronger Gimli has gotten!"

"Well, I look forward to meeting them," said Bilbo, wiggling a bit as Thorin's whiskers caught in his hair, tickling him.

"And they look forward to meeting _you. _Or at least, so they've told me. Anticipating_ tea_, like as not. I've let them know about your skill in that area."

Bilbo's cheeks began to warm. "Well, thank you," he said. "I'm flattered. But really, there are many other Hobbits in the Shire that are much better at it than I am."

"Go on!" said Dori. "Not for nothing, but I think that my best memory from this last year was you teaching me how to make a proper cup of Hobbitish tea! I'd always wanted to know the secret to its smoothness."

The heat in Bilbo's cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. "To be honest, I should thank you for teaching _me_ how to make Dwarvish tea in exchange. I've always been impressed by its boldness and its, well… pleasant bitterness."

Bofur laughed. "_Bold and pleasantly bitter!_" he said. "Are you talking about Dwarvish tea, or about us Dwarves?"

"Both!" answered Bilbo.

Laughs worked their way around the group; and as they faded, Ori cleared his throat.

"I think I… um…" he began.

"You what?" urged Dori.

The younger Dwarf lifted a shoulder. "I think my best memory from last year was also… teaching someone... _something_."

Thorin's arm tightened around Bilbo, who looked over to see that the Dwarf-King was frowning slightly. Ori shrunk back a bit, closing his mouth; but Bofur spoke up.

"Oh, I think I know what you're talking about!" he said. "At least, if you're talking about what I _think _you're talking about."

"What _is _he talking about?" asked Kíli. Beside him, Fíli shrugged.

"Well, teaching Thorin how to knit, of course!" Bofur went on, looking at Ori. "I mean, I'm certain I overheard the two of you discussing _casting on_ and _binding off_, and I know for a fact that I saw Thorin with a set of knitting needles and a ball of yarn at least once, so—"

"Bofur!" Thorin bellowed, cutting him off.

Bilbo beamed at Thorin. "What's all this about?" he asked. "Was that really what the two of you were doing all those days you spent together? I thought you were having Ori set down kingdom business into writing!"

Thorin let out a long breath through his nose. "What about _you_, Bofur?" he asked in an apparent effort to shift the subject back. "What have _you _to tell about the last year?"

Bofur scratched his chin. "Well, plenty, I suppose," he said. "But there is _one_ thing that comes best to mind." He stretched his arms into the air and laid back onto the rug with his hands behind his head. "I remember some fifty years ago in the Blue Mountains—"

"Oi!" said Nori, nudging him with his foot. "These are supposed to be from the _last_ year, not a half century ago!"

"I'm getting to that," Bofur continued, sparing him barely a glance. "Now, as I was saying… I remember there was this couple that lived down the road... Binír and Hannis."

Bombur made a noise of curiosity past the pastry in his mouth.

"You remember them, don't you?" asked Bofur; and when Bombur nodded, he went on. "Well, they were… an _interesting_ pair. Binír had a habit of staying out late drinking, and every time he came home, Hannis would meet him at the door."

"Is this going anywhere?" asked Dori.

"Well, you see, she met him at the door with an _axe_," said Bofur. "Every time. And if his excuse for being out so late wasn't good enough for her liking, then, well…" He chuckled. "They were quite the sight, him stumbling down the street as fast as he could, drunk as he was, with her close behind swinging her axe over her head! Every night! Every night they did that! And every night, I would eventually see them walking back home, holding each others hands while her axe was tucked away in her belt."

"So, what's that have to do with _this_ year?" asked Kíli.

Bofur sat up and grabbed his mug from the hearth. "Because they're still together!" he said, then he drained his drink dry. "They moved to Erebor this year… and even now, he comes home late, and still she chases him. And would you guess it? They have three children now! A daughter, even!"

"Well, that's sweet and all, lad," said Balin, "but how is that your _favorite _memory?"

Bofur peered at Bilbo and Thorin from the corner of his eye. "I'm just a fool for a good love story, I guess."

Thorin shifted a bit behind Bilbo, who turned to see the Dwarf's cheeks were red beneath his whiskers. Another voice then spoke up—though the Hobbit could not understand what was being said.

He looked over to see Bifur gesturing wildly, his hands forming the sign-language of _iglishmêk_, while he occasionally added a word aloud in the Dwarvish tongue—neither of which had Bilbo learned much of over the past few years. All the Company seemed to be paying rapt attention to Bifur, though, and when he finally finished telling what must have been his own tale, the group all started to laugh and nod.

"Right!" said Bofur. "That's a good one!"

"I had forgotten about that!" added Glóin, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pipe. "That _was _a good day!"

At a bit of a loss, Bilbo looked to Thorin, who was himself grinning. The Dwarf-King must have seen Bilbo's confusion, as he leaned in close to speak low. "Even _we _do not understand everything he tells us," he said, "but he was speaking of the visit Bard and his family made in summer."

"You mean when you gave his younger daughter a pet goat?" asked Bilbo, smiling wide. "That didn't go over very well with him, did it?"

"Not very well at all," said Thorin. He glanced at the crowd, who were all caught up in conversation again; then he placed his lips close to Bilbo's ear. "That same month, you agreed to share my chambers," he whispered. "I would say that our summer went rather better for us than Bard's did for him."

Bilbo rubbed his cheek against Thorin's. "Much, _much _better…"

Glóin's lighting of his pipe seemed to have led to a shared craving, as some of the other Dwarves had also by now brought out their own and were firing them up. Great puffs of smoke began rising above the crowd, then vanishing into the darkness of the high ceiling. Bilbo took in a long breath, able to identify most of the pipe-weed as something akin to Southern Star, due to the sweet taste it left at the back of his throat; but he had left his own pipe in his and Thorin's room, and so he just drew in another deep breath.

All at once, Nori spoke up. "Bombur! How about you?"

Upon hearing his name, Bombur stopped chewing mid-bite.

"There's no need to ask _that_!" said Dori. "You know it must have something to do with food!"

Bombur swallowed before shutting his mouth tight and shaking his head.

"Oh, I think we maybe should leave Bombur's best memory alone," said Bofur, smirking. "It's less likely to do with eating, and more likely to do with that dark-haired lass that's been giving him so much attention lately." He looked to his brother, whose face had grown redder than his beard; then he took a draw from his pipe before going on. "Matters of romance being what they are... even if they're the _best _memories, they're best left between the participants."

Again he eyed Thorin and Bilbo; yet it was Kíli that spoke up.

"I said that I wasn't going to mention Tauriel," he snapped, throwing his hands into the air.

Dwalin blew out a mouthful of smoke. "And nobody was talking about _you_," he said. "_Or _your Elf-maid."

"Oh," said Kíli, lowering his hands.

Bilbo's back was by now beginning to ache from the day's celebrations, and so he stretched and laid on the rug, resting his head on Thorin's lap.

"And what about you, Balin?" the Dwarf-King asked as he began running his fingers through Bilbo's hair.

"My memory's to do with _you_, really," replied Balin. "You and Bilbo, in fact."

"What about us?" asked Bilbo.

"Well, it isn't _entirely _ about the two of you," said Balin. "And yet, you are a large part of it. See, if you remember, I finally got around to cataloging all of the treasure this past spring. It was hard work, but enjoyable. So many things I came across while doing it brought back memories of our old days here in the Mountain. Still, the thing… the _one _ thing that to me meant the most in finding was a belt." He pointed at Bilbo. "_Your _belt."

The corner of Bilbo's mouth turned up. He knew what the old Dwarf was speaking about: a mithril belt, beaded with pearls and white crystals. The belt that matched, and now accompanied, the silver-steel shirt that Thorin had given to him on the eve of the Battle. He reached up, taking hold of Thorin's hand.

"And I appreciate it very much," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"And how about you, Óin?" asked Thorin, running his thumb over Bilbo's fingers.

"Hmm?" said Óin, mistakenly holding his pipe to his ear before replacing it with his hearing-trumpet a moment later. "What was that?"

"What's your memory from this year?" asked Thorin, louder now.

"Oh! Um… well, probably when I got to learn some new healing techniques from the Elves," he said. "There's so much, really, I didn't know before I spent a week there. And how nice they were about it... for _Elves_, anyway. Maybe that was Tauriel's doing! The others seemed to open up to me much more when she was around!"

"Hey!" said Kíli. "How come Óin gets to talk about Tauriel, but I _don't?_"

"Because Óin isn't going on and on about her like—" began Glóin gruffly.

"Because I speak of her with reverence only," said Óin, holding up a finger, "and not _affection_." He looked to Kíli. "Though it _was_ a bit annoying that she spoke so much about _you_ while I was there."

"She _did_?" asked Kíli, visibly brightening. "What did she say?"

Thorin's hand closed tightly around Bilbo's own. "Nori!" he said, clearly again trying to shift the subject. "What's _your_ memory?"

"Oh, it's an easy one!" said Nori, shaking his present once more. "It's got to be when I managed to... um, _borrow_ Thranduil's wine at that banquet a couple months ago."

"_Steal_, you mean," said Dori, rolling his eyes. "Right out from under his nose, if I recall."

Dwalin snorted, releasing a mouthful of smoke. "Well, in that case," he said, "_my_ best memory was putting you in jail for that!" He leaned forward, winking. "Or so Thranduil _believed_."

"It _was _excellent wine, wasn't it?" asked Nori.

"Aye! That it was!"

The two of them shared a laugh, while most of the others just shook their heads.

"So, I have it!" announced Kíli. "I have one!"

"Go on, then," said Glóin.

Kíli nodded. "I think maybe my favorite memory was when I got to lead a group of settlers here from the Iron Hills."

"Was that the trip that your Elf-maid went along with you on?" asked Dwalin with a grunt. "As a… _cultural liaison_?"

"Well, yes!" said Kíli. "But that isn't why it was the best for me. I mean, not the _only _reason. I think it was really because it was just such a new experience and responsibility, handling affairs between Erebor and Dáin's folk." He regarded his uncle. "I just... I really appreciated the chance to do it."

"And you conducted yourself very well," said Thorin with an air of pride.

Fíli placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You _did_," he said. "Though I was worried the whole time you were gone."

Kíli smiled softly. "Well, how about _you_?" he asked. "What's your favorite memory from this year?"

"Something weapon-related, no doubt!" said Glóin. "Or rushing into the heat of battle!"

"What battle?" asked Óin, aiming his ear-trumpet towards Glóin. "There's been naught but peace here since we moved in!"

"Aye," said Dwalin. "It _is _getting rather dull."

Bilbo yawned and stretched. "Well, I, for one, am enjoying the peace."

"Me, too," said Fíli, rubbing the back of his neck. The room grew quiet, and he looked at the bemusement all around him. "What? You think that I am _only_ about the fight?"

"Not _only_..." said Nori. "But most of the time, yeah."

Fíli shook his head slowly. "Not this time."

"So, what is it, then?" asked Kíli. "What _is_ your favorite memory from this last year?"

"Spending the night camping at the Lake," answered Fíli with a small shrug. His brother looked at him curiously, but Fíli just focused on the pipe in his hand, its smoke long-since spent. "It was when you and Tauriel were off in the Iron Hills. Like I said, I was worried about you. I went off on my own to do something calming. While I was there I took a long walk along the shore. It was peaceful, watching the stars reflecting back at me from the water's surface. I thought about Durin... about the Mirrormere."

As he spoke, the room itself seemed to close in a bit in intimacy, and he paused for a moment, peering into the to the fire. None of the other Dwarves spoke up to break into his reverie, so he went on.

"I don't know why, but I skipped a stone," he said. "I felt bad about breaking the glass of the lake, but I…" He breathed out hard. "I can remember the moonlight on the ripples as they moved across the water. I imagined them making their way down the River Running, and on then to the Sea of Rhûn. Sometimes I imagine them going on still… going on forever."

By the time he finished telling his tale, the atmosphere had slipped into near silence, save the crackling of the fire. Every face was showing some level of reflection, as they all seemed to be taking the Prince's memory into their own—even Bombur had stopped eating, and Nori had set his present on the rug before him. Thorin was gently running his fingers through Bilbo's hair, then he brushed his fingertips along the braid at the side of the Hobbit's head.

"Maybe this is a good time to call it a night," said Bilbo, sitting up. "Ending Yule on a peaceful note is what is always hoped for, and I think…" He smiled at Fíli. "I think you have done just that." He stood, looking to each Dwarf's contemplative face in-turn. "Thank you all for another lovely Yuletide."

The Company mumbled in agreement, then some of them knocked their pipe-ashes out onto the hearth before they all gathered their presents and rose to their feet. The Dwarves then offered their "_Happy Yule" _farewells as they headed for the door; and when they had all left, Bilbo turned to Thorin, who was standing with both of their presents held in his grip.

They said not a word, but Thorin passed Bilbo his gift, then the two of them joined hands and walked out of the room, leaving the bright and twinkling lights behind. For a short while they made their way through the darkened corridors, and on they went in silence to their own chamber, which had little in the way of Yule decorations, save a wreath of spruce and pine cones set above the small and comfortable fire. There, the pair sat upon their bed and stared long at one another before Bilbo at last tilted his head toward the present that Thorin was holding.

"Open yours first," he said.

Thorin did as he was asked, carefully untying the ribbon and unfolding the gilded paper. Bilbo watched patiently as a small ironwood box came into view; then he held his breath when Thorin lifted the hinged lid to reveal the set of wooden hair-beads within.

"You carved these yourself?" asked Thorin, drawing the beads out and examining them closely. He turned them over in his hand, and a palpable wonder rose into his eyes when he saw etched acorns on each.

Bilbo nodded. "You're a hard person to make a gift for," he said. "You have… well, everything, after all. And I know that Dwarf-beads are usually fashioned of metal or gems or stone, but I hoped you might like them, anyway."

The light from their small hearth-fire glinted in Thorin's eyes. "I do," he said tenderly. "Dwarf-beads are made of those things that are treasured by the Dwarves that wear them." He placed the beads back into their box, then he closed the lid and ran his fingers over the top. "And I treasure nothing more than what you have given to me."

Bilbo grew suddenly short of breath. "Shall I open my gift now?"

Thorin lowered his head in a slight nod, and Bilbo squeezed the gift gently. It was soft, and his thumb pushed through the paper; so he decided to open it the rest of the way not with care, but with enthusiasm. He tore the wrapping off and dropped it to the floor, then he let out a gentle laugh.

"_This _is what you and Ori were working on?" he asked, realizing now that it was not pride that had caused the Dwarf-King to shush Bofur. "A gift for _me_?"

"It was," said Thorin. "Do you like them?"

Bilbo held up a pair of warm knitted mittens, underneath which were also a scarf and cap. They were well-made, though with a few repaired dropped stitches; and Bilbo could tell the care that Thorin had put into them.

"They're perfect," said Bilbo. "I love them!"

"I had hoped you would," returned Thorin. He set his small box on the bed-stand, while Bilbo did the same with his own gift. "I noticed that you did not tell the Company of your favorite memory from this last year. May I ask you what it was?"

Bilbo motioned toward the small oak. "Watching that sprout, I suppose," he said; then he laid himself down on the bed and stretched out on his side. "It meant something that I just can't… I can't explain it. When I planted it, I didn't expect it to grow, to survive. And yet it did, and that… it just…"

"Made Erebor feel like home?" asked Thorin, laying down beside Bilbo and caressing his arm.

A sigh passed Bilbo's lips, and he ran his fingertips over Thorin's scarred brow. "_You _ are what makes it feel like home," he whispered as Thorin draped his arm over him and pulled him close. "But what about _your _favorite memory? You said nothing to the Company, either. What is it that you remembered most fondly about this past year?"

Thorin's eyes softened. "_This _moment," he said; then he placed a gentle kiss upon Bilbo's lips. "You and me, here and now… this is a memory in the making, and one that I think will see me through the year to come."

* * *

_I want to add one small note in that the couple that Bofur is speaking about is based on my own paternal grandparents. Yes, he did have a habit of coming home drunk, and she did have the tendency to chase him from the house with an axe at those times (the Prohibition was an interesting time); but they also went on to have eleven children!_


End file.
